N A T I O N S-The True Story
by lray985
Summary: Hello…my name is Alice Kirkland, and I am part of a group known as the N.A.T.I.O.N.S. Actually, I mislead you earlier, my apologies, until today I was enslaved to a group called the N.A.T.I.O.N.S, we all were. So as my first and last act of free will…I'm going to broadcast our story over every radio wavelength and on every television station in the New World. So, listen up.


Hello…my name is Alice Kirkland, and I am part of a group known as the N.A.T.I.O.N.S. Each letter stands for one of the the 7 countries that make up the New World. From the moment we are born everything in our life is controlled by the Government. We are told what we can eat, what we can say, who we can communicate with, what toys we can play with, what books to read..everything. Actually I mislead you earlier, my apologies, until today I was _enslaved_ to a group called the N.A.T.I.O.N.S, we all were. So as my first and last act of free will…Im going to broadcast our story over every radio wavelength and on every television station in the New World. As soon as I hit the record button, my signal will become trackable again, and the countdown begins, so please listen closely. I won't be able to repeat myself…for my last breath will be the closing sigh of the book-cover, my only wish is that my dying worlds be "The End".

* * *

_Ground Level_

_Novosibrisk, Russia_

_1999_

Fluorescent lights flicker and sway, illuminating the dingy laboratory laid out beneath them. A lone figure stands in the center of the room behind a long, steel examination table, opposite to him stood, what seemed to be, a wall composed solely of various monitors and screens. Some which merely reflected the room back through a thin layer of fuzzy static, while others showed what looked like different types of bacteria and cultures in different stages of development. A slightly larger screen, positioned in the dead center, seemed to be showing some sort of Russian news program. Brightly colored charts and graphics flashed by on the screen attempting to grab one's attention in a desperate bid to communicate a message to a generally close-minded public. A bit of dialogue can be heard, but the staticky crackling of the poor quality speakers renders it close to unintelligible. Though not completely indecipherable apparently, as the man in the center of the room frantically scours, what seems to be his desk, returning victorious with a small black remote clutched tightly in his hand.

His severely bloodshot eyes narrow at the screen, glassy and drooping with exhaustion, but with a fiery determination keeping them sharp and focused on the program. He presses a couple buttons on the remote and after a few minutes, a stream of bright white text appears."…the proposed new class of psychosis treatment medications, contrived from live bacterial cultures found in the bloodstream of certain animals is said, to stabilize mood, reduce paranoia and help moderate panic attacks in those with severe and acute phobias. This "miracle cure" has just now been examined by the Food and Drug Administration, and while it has many promising results, the reactions they observed in patients who reacted adversely to the it as well as the rather dangerous side affects, all in all led the the medication being deemed too "unstable" and "risky" to be released to the general public. As each word rolls by on the screen, the fire in the mans eyes glows dimmer and dimmer, his posture falls from the tight wire-strung ridgity pulled taut by a mixture a cautious hope and painful desperation to a despair ridden slump, reeking of the rotting stench that accompanies broken dreams and crushed aspirations.

An ancient desktop computer system hacks and wheezes itself back to life, various dings, bells and chimes alert all those in the room to the arrival of a new message. Walking over to it, the man leans down to read "…hey man…sry guess this isn't ur big break…thought getting that stuff to u to make the drug would get u in the w/big boys…guess not…that sucks feel sry 4 u…maybe next brig thing can get you out of that basement lol….have to get somebody else though….can't do it again though my boss will fire me 4 sure…make sure to throw that shit away though they are saying its like super bad and dangerous k…why don't we go out for drinks later….drown the sorrows eh…little company it'll be gr8". "It'll be great…yeah great" a broken whisper, shatters the silence and taints the air with an acrid, bitterly depressive, aftertaste.


End file.
